Ambarish was just stepping into his teens those
days when he came to know the Professor. He lived those days with his
parents and his sister in a ramshackle hut in one of those shanty
towns dotting the sea-shore on the eastern fringe of the renowned
temple-town of Puri. His father was a rickshaw-puller who earned just
enough to keep the family hearth burning by ferrying pilgrims and
tourists across the town. But he had been chronically ill from
malnutrition and overwork and managed to work at most two or three
days a week. So his mother had to augment the earnings of the
household by working as a domestic cook at other people’s
homes. Thus, they lived hand to mouth and their neighbours were no
better off.

No wonder, Diwali---the great festival of
lights and fireworks which celebrates the victory of good over evil
meant very little to them. The lights and the glowing and sparkling
fireworks did not excite Ambarish as they did the kids who were
fortunate enough to be born to well-to-do parents. He used to watch
the rockets swishing across the night sky and the brilliant bursts of
colours with the indifference of a sage. The festivals didn’t
mean anything to him when going to bed after a dinner seemed to be
the greatest luxury. But all till the time Professor arrived from
nowhere.

He was a queer middle-aged man who the poor kids
later learnt was a Professor at the local college. But he was a kind
man who came to the shanties at each festival time to distribute
sweets and large quantities of fireworks among the poor kids. He
stayed with them for hours sharing the joys of the festival with
them, laughing and dancing and making faces at the destitute boys and
girls. They loved to call him ‘Professor’.

Ambarish greatly venerated the selfless man and
held him in high esteem because his mother always asked him to
respect the wise and the kind because she told him that no man could
ever achieve greatness without being blessed by the two rare virtues.

Year after year he came to hop around the
shanties distributing his materials of love and mirth at each major
festival. The poor kids eagerly awaited his arrival on the eve of
Dushera and Diwali. Ambarish meanwhile struggled with both his
poverty and his studies and by virtue of his God-gifted memory and
merit gradually rose up the ladder of his academic achievements on
the strength of scholarships. One day he got a job and moved out of
the bleak surroundings. He took along his parents and his sister and
travelled far and wide. Then he was lost in the sea of time and space
and his childhood memories had grown faint. His father had died and
his mother had grown old and feeble.

One morning his mother called him aside and
whispered, “Beta, I want to see the place where we once lived
in the shanty town. A strange urge to behold our past and Lord
Jaggannath (the presiding deity of Puri) has arisen in me. Can you
take me to Puri once again before I die?” Ambarish looked
wistfully into his mother’s eyes. He had no reason or intention
to refuse her request.

Forty years is a long time for a man. He came
back to Puri but it was a changed place. In four decades, the streets
and alleys had changed and so were their names. The layout of the
town had changed altogether with all the greenery and vacant spots
replaced with brick and mortar. Nothing seemed familiar. The
population since had increased ten fold or more and strange people
crowded the marketplaces and on the hard and bare asphalt roads.

Like a listless traveller he roamed the streets and
loitered along the coast lost in the sweet and sour thoughts of his
childhood. Diwali was a couple of days away and he suddenly got an
idea. He wanted to search out Professor and meet him if he still was
alive. He moved along the known landmarks and reached the facade of a
house that appeared similar to the house where Professor lived.

The alley was dark and narrow and the crumbling
house seemed forlorn in the fading light of the evening. Small trees
of Pipal and Banyan had grown on the roof and the walls had not seen
a coat of paint in decades. He stood wondering till a person emerged
from one of the rickety doors. He asked the man about the Professor.
After a minute of surprise the man said that Professor had moved to
an old-care centre along with his wife after his sons had abandoned
them in old age. With a heavy heart and misty eyes he moved up and
sought out the centre. There was Professor sitting amid a dozen other
senile people in the gloom and silence of dusk. He stood up on his
wobbly legs and looked at Ambarish’s face through his thick
glasses for a long long time and then smiled in joy.

Two days later, Ambarish returned to the centre
at dusk with a load of fireworks. He called all the forsaken and
forlorn people out into the courtyard and set the earth and sky
ablaze. Professor danced like an old spring doll whose rusty moving
parts had long since jammed. He was very happy indeed. And Ambarish
mused he too never had such a happy Diwali ever before. With misty
eyes he looked at the starry sky above, folded his hands and thanked
God.